


Next Time Won't Be So Easy

by TalesOfErynGalen



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 23:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14412885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesOfErynGalen/pseuds/TalesOfErynGalen
Summary: Jana always had a certain fire, from the very first time Vilkas met her. Their chaotic lives bound them together in blood and steel - and they were torn apart by the very same.





	Next Time Won't Be So Easy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry that this is my first story on this site.  
> Blood tw  
> Suicide tw

_ "Keep your guard up! Hit harder! I said  _ harder,  _ newblood!” Steel clashed on steel as Vilkas swung his sword in a controlled arc, sending the hopeful recruit - a pitifully frail looking Imperial - reeling backwards. Her boots scuffed the ground roughly, catching on the uneven stones, but she remained upright. Dark eyes burned in indignation as she lurched back into place, settling her center of balance lower. _

_ It was a good move, if a bit late. Vilkas had to admit that. She should have gone in recognizing that he was taller than her by a full head, with more mass, strength, and skill in combat. _

_ “Keep your head about you, whelp. Shoulders squared. Don't - oof!” He barely braced his shield before the woman’s counterattack struck him squarely, with enough force to drive him partially down onto one knee. The Imperial snarled at him, her sharp face barely a hands breadth from his. _

_ “Don't presume. This isn't my first fight.” A harsh shove, and Vilkas was sprawling out on the ground, a kick sending his shield spinning while his sword clattered out of reach. _

_ “Well...done.” After a moment, he accepted the hand that was held out to help him up. “Where did you learn to fight? That was...clever. Making me think you had no idea what you were doing.” _

_ “Imperial Legion. I fought in the last five years of the civil war.” She smirked, completely unfazed by Vilkas rising to his full height, close enough that she had to crane her neck back to meet his eyes. “I never introduced myself, did I? Legate Jana, at your service.” _

_ “Well, Legate,” Vilkas started, appraising the woman he'd previously thought to be far too weak to be a Companion. “You might want to improve your skills. I know your tricks now, and this is far from our last spar. The next time won't be so easy.” _

_ A sharp laugh broke out of Jana’s throat, more like a bark than a human emotion. Vilkas startled back, surprised by the harsh sound. “I'll hold you to that, you tall-ass bastard.” _

* * *

 

The haze cleared slowly, but it didn't take the empty, removed feeling from Vilkas’ heart. Silver eyes stared widely, disbelieving,  _ begging  _ every god he knew to let this be another trick. He'd seen enough of them while travelling with his wife. She always recognized them, her eyes sharp from the war, and pulled him back before disarming them.

His knees hit the floor, emotion not quite reaching him through the wall of  _ nothing _ . His sword fell to the ground - an ebony piece of equipment Jana had had made for him on their last anniversary. The heavy, glinting metal rang dully through the ancient stones. Something about the sound echoed with finality.

* * *

 

_ “C’mon, Vil, this is amazing!” Jana’s brown eyes shone with excitement as she leaned forward, a letter and a rather hefty pouch of gold in her hands. “I've been trying to track down a Dragon Priest for  _ ages, _ and here one just drops into our laps, and...you  _ don't  _ want to go? Not for gold? Glory? Honor?” She sidled closer, grinning mischievously up at her husband. “The gratitude and affection of your  _ incredibly lucky  _ wife?” _

_ Vilkas chuckled at that, drawing her into a gentle hug. “Don't I already have that, love? I was under the impression you gave it to me freely, at the temple of Mara.” _

_ “You won't  _ keep  _ it if you don't at least travel with me part of the way - milkdrinker.” Slight, nimble hands jabbed into his sides, forcing him to release Jana with a strangled huff of air. _

_ “You are  _ insufferable _...I like that about you.” _

* * *

 

Shaking hands removed the wolf’s head helm Vilkas had begrudgingly adopted again for the venture. A Dragon Priest. That had been the job delivered to them by the weekly courier, meant for the Companions at large. Jana had set her heart on it. It was in her  _ blood. _

_ Blood _ .

Vilkas crawled forward, taking in air but not really breathing. His pulse hammered in his veins, but he wasn't alive. He couldn't be.  _ No. _

The splash of his hand falling into the red puddle made him jolt backwards, heaving up sick in revulsion. He was no stranger to blood and death, but this…

* * *

 

_ “Careful, now, love,” He couldn't quite keep the laugh out of his voice. Very rarely did Jana break her Legionarre facade. To see her eagerly prancing about the old ruins - part of Labyrinthian, he thought - with a childlike wonder. He almost hadn't called after her, but she seemed less careful today than any other time they'd ventured into Skyrim’s more dangerous locales. _

_ “Sorry.” Jana dropped back into step beside him, looking decidedly not sorry. The pale blue of her stahlrim armor And weaponry made her stand out like a ghost against the ancient stonework. It looked as though she belonged here - and she would clearly like to, in any case. “This place is...amazing! I’ve never seen a Dragon Priest’s resting place that looks quite like this.” A beat, and then Jana smiled slyly in Vilkas’ direction. “What do you think the mask does?” _

 

 

“Oh gods...please. Mara have mercy,  _ don't…” _

 

_ “The cut of the tunnels and passageways...I've seen those before. They're designed to carry a Thu’um. By Stendarr, this is amazing. Do you...do you think it'll talk to us? The priest, I mean.” _

_ “Let's pray not. It's bad enough to have normal Wights Shouting at us.” _

_ As if summoned, an echo carried to the couple, bouncing from the walls of the grand corridors. Jana’s eyes went wide and she covered her ears, shouting for Vilkas to do the same.  _

_ She'd heard what the Shout was. Of course she did. Vilkas had already made the mistake of assuming she couldn't understand others’ Thu’ums before. His hands flew to his ears...but too late. _

**_Gol Hal Dov!_ **

* * *

 

Vilkas didn't bother to wipe his mouth off. He looked up again, meeting his worst nightmare, shaking pathetically in his armor as the reality of it caught up to him.

Losing his mind and body to the Shout, but not his sight.

Big brown eyes, flaring with seldom-used powers, begging him to stand down. Tears welling in them as Jana uncertainly drew her greatsword, squaring her stance. Wanting desperately to stop, to sheathe his sword and draw his wife of three years into his arms, promise her that he'd never give her cause to make _ that face  _ ever again…

But he didn't. He couldn't. 

The enchanted ebony of his blade had cleaved into her side, filling him with a cold horror. He watched, helpless, as his arms - no, they  _ couldn't  _ be his, he would  _ never  _ hurt Jana,  _ never  _ \- lifted the red-splattered sword again. He met her eyes as she looked up at him, agony and desperate sadness hardening the lines of her face, a last plea hanging on her already bloodstained lips.

“Vilkas…”

And the sword had come down, cracking into her skull with a blow that no helmet could withstand.

“Jana, love...please, don't...you can pull through, you  _ have  _ to -” Full terror gripped him fiercely as he came to kneel on the red-painted flagstones. Jana stared straight up, gaze glassy and expression frozen in a whimper. Blood still leaked steadily from the weak point in her armor, and pooled behind her head. He knew, the instant he saw her. Before he removed her gauntlet with hasty, trembling fingers and held her thin wrist, searching desperately for a sign that she would be alright, she was fine, she was the Last Dragonborn and  _ his wife… _

There was nothing. No twitch. No murmur. No breath.  _ No pulse. _

The tears came thick and fast. He wasn't certain how long he sobbed, or when exactly he gathered Jana’s body into his traitorous arms, hugging her tight. He might have stayed there for the rest of eternity  for all he cared. He'd killed her. He hadn't reacted fast enough when she warned him to protect himself from the incoming thu’um, and now they were  _ both _ destroyed. Both  _ dead.  _ He didn't deserve Sovngarde. Not the paradise that Jana had  _ fought _ , tooth and nail, to obtain for him, not now that it was  _ his fault  _ she was gone.

Eventually, his sobs and ragged breaths quietened, his eyes truly opening to his wife’s death. The young Imperial laid limp in his arms, eyes still wide open. He closed them, gently, regretfully, clenching his own shut as he memorized the exact shade of brown. He carefully worked the horned stahlrim helmet from her head, wincing as shards of enchanted ice fell from their setting with a tinkling chime. Blue and red reflected the candlelight like broken stained glass, and he stared blankly at them, frowning.

Jana had died quickly at least. The blow that had broken through her helm also cleaved into her skull, into the gray matter of her brain. The last, hammering strike had done her in, a split second after he’d...cleaved open her side.

He shuddered again, holding her closer. The grief was there, below the surface, but he could hold it down for now. Long enough to carry his wife to the Skyforge.

* * *

 

When the sun finally set four days later, Vilkas lowered the torch onto Jana’s funeral pyre. The leaping flames cast his flat, expressionless face into sharp relief. His heart wrenched in his chest as the fire climbed up and up, engulfing Jana’s corpse. He couldn't feel his knees, his arms, nothing but the horrible, twisting pain at his very core. No tears came this time, however. He'd long cried everything he was out into the bitter cold on the trek back to the city, and beside the fact, some of the most important people in Skyrim stood at his back, grieving the Dragonborn in their own way.

He moved to the Underforge with speed he hadn't thought himself to be capable of when the flames began spitting acrid smoke and the smell of burnt flesh. His mind was absent as he allowed his legs to carry him far beneath the stone, ahead of his remaining shield-siblings. He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to see the funeral pyre, the dark-garbed mourners clustering around the wood,  _ smell  _ it with a beast-like clarity as his lover left the world for good. Even the thought of not even having a stone to mourn at struck him squarely in the chest, sinking him to the cold floor.

The ceremonial wolf armor was too tight, too cold, too impersonal. Jana wouldn't have liked it. She loved seeing him in ebony, or dragonbone when she had it. She wouldn't have wanted to be mourned like this.

_ She wouldn't have wanted to die in the first place, much less squashed like a bug by  _ you. _ She  _ trusted  _ you. _

The scent of the smoke wouldn't leave him. Neither would Jana’s glassy stare, her broken expression before the killing blow fell onto her head, her childlike excitement over the winding ruins she had so desperately wanted to explore. He knew that, if she could speak to him, she'd want him to finish plumbing it's depths, to kill the Dragon Priest in her memory.

_ It doesn't matter what she would want. She can't tell you anymore. She's dead because of you. Even without the beast blood, you are still a  _ monster.

He drew the short sword he'd worn to the funeral. Orcish - another gift from Jana. He couldn't bear to carry the ebony blade that had stolen her from him.

_ You stole her from yourself. _

He didn't deserve this. He still remembered when Jana had given it to him, splattered in other people’s blood but grinning like a child on New Life. Fearless and ruthless, but still caring. A quality too many people lacked.

She'd nearly died, several times, trying to win him Sovngarde.

He’d killed her. He didn't deserve her kindness. Didn't deserve the afterlife she'd given him through her blood, sweat, and tears. She wouldn't even be there, waiting for him, when he finally passed. Imperials didn't go to Sovngarde.

_ Beasts don't go to Sovngarde, either. _

His hands didn't shake for the first time since Jana’s death. The Orcish sword was a welcome weight in his hand, and he let out a shaky breath.

_ Oblivion take me _


End file.
